


As I Walk Away

by eleanor_raines



Category: Choices - Fandom, Desire & Decorum (Visual Novel)
Genre: Chapter 1, Choices, Edgewater, F/M, Fluff, Love, Regency, Regency Romance, Romance, desire and decorum - Freeform, ernest sinclaire - Freeform, ernest sinclaire x mc, ledford park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_raines/pseuds/eleanor_raines
Summary: Ernest Sinclaire finds himself unable to stop thinking about his unexpected encounter with Miss Eleanor Whitby, the natural daughter of the Earl of Edgewater.
Relationships: Ernest Sinclaire/Main Character (Desire & Decorum)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	As I Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so remember how Ernest said that he didn’t suddenly realize that he was in love with MC, but that is gradually occurred to him over time with each encounter. Basically, this series is all about those moments in between their encounters and how Ernest comes to find himself with MC, Miss Eleanor Whitby. This is my first non-Bloodbound fanfic which is very exciting. I really enjoyed writing and I hope you enjoy!

“ _The absolute impertinence_ ,” Ernest muttered to himself as he made his way down the drive, the gravel crunching beneath his feet.

The earl’s natural daughter was quite something, to be sure. He couldn’t deny her features were quite striking. He had noticed the way her raven hair shimmered in the spring sunlight as they walked through the garden, how her skin seemed to glow from within under the radiant rays.

Ernest shook his head, trying to dislodge these uncomfortable and highly unwelcome thoughts from his mind. He had neither the time nor the will, quite frankly, to involve himself in any way with the earl’s daughter. 

Miss Eleanor Whitby was certainly unlike the other women Ernest had met at Edgewater and even in the high society circles in which he was obligated to run. She smiled a great deal, which Ernest found somewhat cloying. 

Beads of sweat started to form on Ernest’s brow as his pace quickened, thoughts and feet racing as he hurried back to his estate, eager to escape the events of the afternoon. 

Inside Ledford’s stone walls, the air was cool and the halls were dark. It was a welcome reprieve and Ernest strode towards his study to bury himself in weekly reports, correspondence, and anything else that might distract him from his unexpected encounter with Miss Whitby.

Unfortunately, as much as he tried, his work seemed determined to carry him back to Edgewater. The first document he examined had a financial summary from the master of horse, a report on stable expenses. He reviewed each line item - saddles, bales of hay, rope - but as he progressed through the list, not reading the words as he looked them over, he thought back to his ride through Grovershire. 

Ernest remembered nearly running over that country maiden, he just hadn’t particularly cared at the time. In all fairness, he hadn’t run her over that day, he hadn’t knocked her to the ground. He hadn’t felt any shame about how he comported himself that day until Miss Whitby had felt it necessary to mention it to his face - and in front of the Dowager Countess no less. 

_Edgewater, One Hour Earlier_

“Oh, I remember you!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes alight with recognition as he walked out the front doors of Edgewater. 

“And yet, I cannot say the same of you,” he replied, bristling at her forthrightness. A scowl started to form on his face. He didn’t like to be at a disadvantage, but he truly had no recollection of this woman. 

“Has nearly running women over become so commonplace?” she said teasingly, “I should think our previous encounter left quite the impression.”

“You are certainly quick to judge,” Ernest retorted. He wasn’t entirely what she meant by that, but he would not tolerate baseless accusations from a stranger. 

Eleanor looked up at him, smirking, “Sir, you make it so easy with your warm personality. It’s apparent you’re the picture of a perfect gentleman.”

Ernest’s face became hot as the blood rushed to his cheeks. His eyes flashed to the Dowager Countess, who looked on with amusement and a scheming twinkle in her eye. 

“At long last. I’ve been anticipating this meeting for a while now,” she said with a satisfied smirk on her face, “Especially when this young lady looks quite handsome today. Would you not agree, sir?”

While he would never bring himself to agree to agree with Dowager Countess, he found himself unable to argue with her either. There was something captivating about this woman. Perhaps it was because as she looked at him now, she did not seem to view him as a highbrow elite or a viable marriage prospect or a dismal bachelor. 

She looked at him as if he were her equal. Her gaze was challenging but earnest. She did not mean to demean or belittle him, but she certainly wasn’t about to let him get away with anything either. A smile tugged at his lips. She was certainly _different._

“I’ll admit the look is not entirely unbecoming,” he stated, clearing his throat as he pushed his unwieldy thoughts from his mind.

The young lady looked shocked to hear such a response from him, her mouth dropped open for a moment in surprise before she replied, “Thank you, Mister … ?”

The Dowager Countess began the introductions.

“Eleanor, allow me to introduce Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, master of the nearby Ledford Park. And Mr. Sinclaire, may I present Miss Eleanor Whitby, my granddaughter?”

At last, things began to make sense. Her boldness and stubbornness were not qualities of those born of the upper-crust. 

“Ah, yes. You must be the earl’s … _natural_ daughter. He mentioned you would be arriving soon,” Ernest replied, aware of his haughty tone of voice. It was childish, but she had put him on the spot and had been seeking a way to pay her in kind.

“At long last, I can put a name to the face of the man that nearly trampled me in Grovershire,” she replied cheerfully, undeterred by his barb.

Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

“Oh, I do remember you!” he exclaimed, “From when I rode through the village …”

He did indeed recollect that event, though he had paid so little mind to the women who were in his way it was just a fragment of a memory. 

“That certainly took you long enough to recall,” she said with a scoff, “I see how memorable you found the occasion.”

“You two are acquainted?” the Dowager Countess interjected, looking between the two in disbelief.

Before Ernest could get a word in edgewise, Eleanor had turned to her grandmother, with a pleasant smile on her face.

“Only in passing, but the encounter remains etched in my mind. How could I forget such a hasty and _ill-mannered_ meeting?”

That was quite enough. He would not be so maligned by a woman who had clearly never set foot on a grand estate before and who knew absolutely nothing of his character. 

“Did you ever pause and take into consideration that I had pressing matters to attend to, miss?” he retorted, his lip curling distastefully. 

“So pressing you couldn’t afford _one_ minute to apologize?” Eleanor replied right back, once again twisting his words to use them against him. She was able to do so with such ease that Ernest’s ire only grew.

“My dear, don’t tease Mr. Sinclaire so. He is one one of the most eligible bachelors around,” she said with a sly smile, glancing up at him. 

If there was one thing Ernest detested, it was conversations of wealth and marriage. An eligible bachelor he may be, but it certainly didn’t mean that he was in any way interested in finding a wife which, unfortunately, the Dowager Countess did not seem to be aware of.

Ernest watched quizzically as the Dowager Countess leaned over to Eleanor and whispered something in her ear. 

“No wife, sir? I must admit I am surprised a man of your fortune is unwed,” she said, meeting his eyes, her gaze unwavering, “But perhaps your position will change shortly. I cannot imagine someone such as yourself remaining unmarried for long.”

“Such as myself?” he repeated back to her, hoping to sound indignant rather than defensive. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but she was already under his skin and Ernest did not care for that one bit.

“You have wealth, position, good looks … ,” Eleanor stated, as if the answer were obvious, “Any young lady would be fortunate to be your wife … but only _if_ she could get past your rough exterior.”

Ernest stood speechless for a moment. Was that a challenge or a threat? Or even worse … a promise?

_Ledford Park_

Ernest threw the papers down on his desk in his study in defeat. It didn’t seem to matter what he tried to distract himself with, his mind kept wandering back to her. She was occupying his mind to a disagreeable extent. He hadn’t met a woman yet who vexed him so easily. Even after hours apart, the sound of her voice echoed in his head. 

The sensation wasn’t at all favorable. Ernest was a man in command of his mind and his life. He could scarcely comprehend how a turn about the garden was enough to derail his thoughts completely. Perhaps he was ill, and his constitutions were weakened. Maybe the heat had gotten to him, and standing out in the sun had dehydrated him and clouded his judgement.

He looked at the clock on the mantle. Nearly an hour had passed since had sat down and he had accomplished precisely nothing. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips and sighed wearily. It seemed productivity would escape him for the day. 

Eyeing the bookshelves for a suitable distraction, Ernest found a tome of philosophical essays. He enjoyed pondering the great questions in life, and he could imagine that profound thought would be sufficient to drive his thoughts of Eleanor Whitby aside. 

Stepping out into the sun, Ernest enjoyed the solitude as he wandered through the lush greenery, only the sounds of birds singing to accompany him. Gardens were meant to be peaceful places, he decided, where one goes to escape pestering questions. 

Ernest meandered to his favorite bench nestled under a blooming cherry tree. He settled himself comfortably under the shady branches. There, in his grandmother’s gardens, his thoughts began to drift away from Eleanor Whitby. Cradling the spine of the leather book in his hand, he flipped the cover open. But he soon realized his folly when he opened the book and a note fell out and into his lap. 

> _Ernest,_

> _This book served me well many times in my life.  
>  I hope it can do the same for you._

> _-Vincent_

Ernest held the note gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as the worn paper rustled in the soft spring breeze. Vincent Foredale was a good man, a respectable and honorable sort. A kind that was rare among the genteel. There was no denying that Eleanor embodied many of those qualities herself. As she had shown him only hours before.

_Edgewater_

“I’d love to explore the gardens with you” Eleanor said, looking up at Ernest with a genuine smile. There was no mirth or mischievous glint in her eyes, and for a moment, Ernest let his guard down. He stepped forward and offered his arm to her.

“Shall we?”

There was something surprisingly comforting about feeling her hand nestled in the crook of his arm, and he found himself somewhat in awe of her expressive and open face as she took in the beautiful greenery around her. In her shining eyes, he saw a genuine appreciation for the beauty surrounding her and his heart softened, if only a little.

“This is stunning!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight and awe. Still unyielding, Ernest gave little in the way of conversation. He hoped his one word replies would be sufficient to stifle the idle chatter, but Eleanor seemed determined to know him.

It was a peculiar situation for Ernest. His stony exterior was usually effective at preventing others from prying into him and into his personal life, but it seemed to have little - if any - effect on Eleanor. In fact, she seemed quite determined to tear down his walls.

“I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Miss Whitby,” he said, turning to face her, his gaze quizzical.

An amused smile graced her face as she replied, “Is that a bad thing?”

“I’ve not yet decided,” he answered truthfully, “You’re clearly different from the other woman that I’ve encountered at Edgewater.”

Eleanor looked pensive for a moment.

“Let me guess,” she said, looking up at him knowingly, “I’m ‘different’ because of my low birth.”

Ernest was stricken with guilt at her words. He had made a point to mention it earlier, his own ire blinding him to the harshness of his words. It was apparent that Eleanor felt no shame about her home or upbringing, and his mentioning it only served to show what an arrogant ass he was capable of being.

“Your background has nothing to do with it,” he answered sheepishly.

“If that’s the case, you could’ve fooled me. That was one of the first things you remarked upon!,” Eleanor replied with a laugh, sharp with derision, “And I cannot say I received the impression you were pleased to _meet_ me, much less spend more time with.

Eleanor took a step closer to him, her eyes seeing right through him, “As you put so _eloquently,_ I am only the Earl of Edgewater’s ‘natural daughter.’”

It didn’t seem that Eleanor felt any qualms about calling out the priggish behavior of the upper-class and Ernest suddenly felt very awkward. Even if he didn’t believe in the inherent superiority of the wealthy and royal, he certainly ran in circles with those who did. 

“I simply thought you were …,” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“It does not matter.”

What could he say? He had thought she was a pretender, a fake, an insidious presence in the life of the earl, who he had come to know as family. But he couldn’t find any dishonesty in her. Her frankness was unparalleled by her peers, and it was her uninhibited openness that made Ernest feel that he might be able to trust her. 

They spoke as friends as they gazed upon the water, and his heart went out to her for the loss of her mother. His own father’s passing had been painful, and he scolded himself for being so insensitive to her loss. 

As they parted ways at the grand doors of Edgewater, she bid him farewell with the hope of seeing him more. 

_Ledford Park_

Somehow, she had found a way to get infuriatingly close to him, both in proximity and in heart. Ernest snapped the book shut and tucked it underneath his arm as he marched back to Ledford, his frustration growing. Why wouldn’t that woman leave him alone? 

As he entered the grand entryway, the housekeeper announced that it was time for afternoon tea. Flustered and driven to distraction, Ernest blustered his way to the tea room and plopped himself down on the seat defeatedly.

“Is everything alright, sir?” the housekeeper asked as Ernest ran a hand down his face, reaching out for the hot cup of tea before him.

“Did you know that the earl’s natural daughter would be arriving at Edgewater today?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, sir,” the maid replied, taken aback by his inquiry, “Mr. Woods had mentioned to Mr. Blackstone that he would be departing for Grovershire to collect the earl’s daughter.”

“I see,” he muttered, as he gazed off into the distance, absentmindedly swirling his spoon in his tea cup. The housekeeper excused herself and once again, Ernest was alone.

As he walked away from Edgewater that day, though he could hardly bear to admit to himself, something felt very different. He walked away curious, intrigued and damn near plagued by the peculiar woman he had met.

No matter how he tried, his mind kept drifting back to their conversation and to the challenging looks she gave him. He had other, far more important things to do than sit around replaying their encounter over and over in his head. But that was all he seemed capable of doing.

She was a nuisance, which Ernest had no time for. No, he did not care for Miss Eleanor Whitby one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> **Characters, plot, & dialogue are property of Pixelberry. I’m just having some fun.**


End file.
